All Grown Up
by The Hermione Granger Fan Club
Summary: A story about Hermione all grown up. Our favourite bushy-haired heroine is working at the Ministry... and it's NOT going well. *Chapter Four is up!*
1. Chapter One: The Dingy Little Office

  
  
It was Wednesday. Hermione Granger, nineteen and the youngest trainee  
at the Ministry of Magic, was in her office. The office was tiny, dark and   
dingy. It had one small window behind Hermione's desk and cardboard boxes   
crammed with files and reports. Despite being such an unattractive and   
uncomfortable place, it was very quiet and peaceful. It was in the same   
corridor as a dozen storerooms and the Centaur Liason Office, so   
Ministry members rarely bustled up and down here. Hermione's office had used   
to be the thirteenth storeroom.   
  
Hermione was almost in tears. Her superior, Percy Weasley, had sent   
her out of a meeting after reading a report she'd written aloud to everyone.   
He'd called it, 'childish' and 'unprofessional' among other things, and had   
told her sternly that until she could get her act together and learn to   
write a proper report, she could not attend meetings like everyone else.   
  
She put her head tiredly into her hands. Hermione hated stress. She'd   
always been so good at everything she'd done. Now, as the youngest trainee,   
she was working two hours later than everyone else AND surviving on a measly   
salary of two Sickles a week. That was one Sickle less than most of the other   
trainees.   
  
Brushing a lock of bushy brown hair out of her eyes, she took a deep   
breath and resisted the urge to cry. I'll do something constructive, thought   
Hermione. Write a letter to someone, or something.   
  
She pulled out a bluejay feather quill and a sheaf of parchement.   
Without really thinking about it, she wrote 'Dear Ron,'. Hermione stared at   
it questioningly for a moment. She decided to continue the letter. She hadn't   
heard from either Ron or Harry in the last two months. She didn't know whether   
Ron had a job yet. Harry was playing reserve Seeker on the Godric's Hollow   
Gunners, the same team his dad had played on. But Ron- well, Ron had always  
seemed to be good at slacking off.   
  
'Dear Ron,   
How's things? Work at the Ministry is challenging. Do you have a job yet?   
How are your family? I hope they're well. My rent just went up, can you   
credit it? Sometimes I feel like my landlord is deliberately trying to make   
things difficult for me. You're lucky to still live with your family, even   
if you moan about them constantly!   
Love,   
  
Hermione.'   
  
Yes, that looked all right. Not like she was struggling or anything.   
Nice and light.   
  
Hermione decided to use an office owl. Anyone could use those, and   
they were free. The trouble was, you weren't supposed to use them for any   
old personal letter. Those owls were for business, and emergencies.   
Hermione decided that if she met anyone she knew in the office Owlery, she   
would just tell them that the note was to her mother, telling her that she   
would be home late. Only about four people in the whole building knew that   
she didn't live with her parents, and all of them were in the meeting that   
Hermione had just been kicked out of. It was a pretty safe plan.   
  
The office Owlery wasn't like the Hogwarts Owlery. It was very   
small in comparison, and modern. The perches and water trays were made of   
steel. Hermione strolled up and down, looking for a suitable owl. She felt   
a nolgastic pang as she stopped in front of a small Scops owl, not unlike   
Ron's Pigwidgeon. This one was lighter in colour, though. Hermione pulled   
the letter from her pocket, where she'd put it for safekeeping. She reached   
up to tie it to the owl's leg, thinking about how Ron would react to a note   
from his old schoolfriend-   
  
"Hermione?"   
  
Ron was standing in the doorway, staring at her. She almost dropped   
the note. "Ron?" she asked.   
  
"What are you doing here?" they said together.   
  
"I work here," said Hermione. "You?"   
  
Ron grinned and picked up a green bag stuffed with newspapers at his   
side. "I'm delivering." He offered her one. "Want one?"   
  
Hermione politely declined the offer. "I haven't a Knut on me."   
  
"Why are you in here?"   
  
"Sending a letter," she replied smoothly. "Er- it's for you."   
  
She handed it to him. He put it into the pocket of his robes.   
  
"So..."   
  
"So..."   
  
They were silent for a moment. "What IS it exactly, that you do?"   
  
Ron said, "Don't laugh, but I deliver Daily Prophets. Locally. You   
know, in Diagon Alley and that. It'd be a waste to use owls for local   
deliveries."   
  
"I see," answered Hermione. "How does, ah, delivering pay?"   
  
"Seven Sickles a week."   
  
Hermione felt betrayed, somehow. "You earn more than twice what I   
earn, then."   
  
"Really? God, I didn't see that happening, believe me. I mean, you   
work at the Ministry and all... Plus you've always been better than me at   
this sort of thing. It's just... you, somehow." He tactfully changed the   
subject. "It must be great working here."   
  
Hermione shrugged. "If you like working overtime and having older   
Ministry members looking at you like you're a beetle or something."   
  
Ron looked taken aback. He looked at Hermione shrewdly. "Say,   
Hermione, d'you get lunch breaks?"   
  
"Half an hour on Fridays. Why?"   
  
At the mention of her pitiful lunch breaks, Ron winced noticably.   
"Where do you go for lunch?"   
  
"Florean Fortescue's. Why?"   
  
"That's an ice cream parlor!"   
  
Hermione grinned rather wickedly. "Terrible, aren't I? Well, if   
you know anywhere else than makes food for a Knut or two, feel free to   
tell me about it."   
  
"Well- I was wondering. Do you want to meet there this Friday?"   
  
"What the heck. It might be fun. Erm- how long do YOU get for   
lunch?"   
  
"Ah. I, er, get... an hour and a half."   
  
"Lucky you."   
  
They were silent again, but it was a pleasant kind of silence.   
  
"I should really be going," said Ron apologetically. "These   
Prophets don't sell themselves, you know."   
  
"Oh, right," said Hermione, stepping into the corridor. "Sorry.  
Bye."   
  
"Yeah, bye."   
  
"See you."   
  
I'm meeting my friend on Friday, Hermione thought. In Florean   
Fortescue's.   
  
She definetely walked with a spring in her step that afternoon. 


	2. Chapter Two: At Florean Fortescue's

  
  
As soon as it was 1.00 on Friday, Hermione nipped out of the   
building sharpish, before anyone could spot her and ask her to run a   
message or fetch them a quill or something. She Apparated in Diagon   
Alley and made her way to Florean Fortescue's.   
  
Ron hadn't arrived so she pulled out her appointment list and   
studied it. At 1.35 she had to take the minutes at a meeting, at 2.15   
there were errands that needed running, at-   
  
"Hey, Hermione." Ron had turned up. "How's your day been?"   
  
Hermione shrugged. They made their way up to the desk. She   
ordered a small vanilla cone. Ron gaped at her.   
  
"That's your WHOLE lunch? I couldn't feed Pig with that!"   
  
Hermione had to look right through her pockets before she could   
find enough money to pay. Ron ordered a vanilla cone too. "I thought   
you were astounded at how tiny they are?" she asked, eyebrows raised.   
  
"Yeah, but..." Ron muttered for a bit and eventually shut up.   
  
They sat down at the front of the place. Ron snuck Hermione a   
slightly guilty look as she gave her ice cream a dainty lick.   
  
"Anything interesting happen at the Daily Prophet?" inquired   
Hermione.   
  
"I wouldn't have a clue. I work in the back of the place."   
  
Now it was Hermione's turn to sneak a look at Ron. What's the   
matter with us, she thought unhappily. We used to have so much to talk   
about!   
  
Ron was looking thoughtful. "But... something really funny   
happened this morning."   
  
"What?"   
  
"Well, this guy called Dan Skriker... he was writing this   
incredibly intense letter to his girlfriend, and our foreman was   
coming, so he shoved it out of sight. When the foreman left, he   
suddenly realised that he'd put it into one of the Prophets!"   
  
Hermione gasped, then began to laugh. "Oh, no! Was he able to   
find it? What happened?"   
  
"That was the funny part, see- he didn't know which one! And   
then about six of us, y'know, all his mates, we were practically   
tearing those Prophets apart, trying to find it. We managed to, it was   
me, actually. We thought we'd pay him back a bit, for causing us all   
that worry, so I started reading it aloud."   
  
"That must have been very funny."   
  
"Oh, God, was it!"   
  
Hermione was really starting to enjoy herself. This was just   
like when they were teenagers and they hung about in places like this.   
  
But when Hermione next looked at her watch, she nearly screamed.   
She was twenty minutes late for work!   
  
"Oh, no! No!"   
  
"What?"   
  
"Dear God, I'm twenty minutes late! Percy's going to kill me!"   
  
She snatched up her bag and waved a hurried goodbye before   
Diapparating. She really did feel like a teenager- a stressed out   
thirteen year old with way too much homework to finish.   
  
Percy was waiting for her when she stumbled into the meeting.   
"Hermione, this really isn't acceptable. You're twenty minutes late!"   
  
"I'm sorry Per- Mr Weasley." She had a stitch in her side that   
felt about the size of Canada. AND she'd almost called him Percy.   
It felt really weird calling Percy, 'Mr Weasley'. Everyone was staring   
at her.   
  
"Hermione Granger- if you can't present yourself properly to   
your colleagues then you have no business to work alongside them.   
Someone else can take the minutes, you... you... well, just go and do   
something beneficial and USEFUL."   
  
She went out of the meeting room and back to her office.   
Hermione collapsed into her chair and put her head down on her arms.   
She stayed like that for at least twelve seconds. Hermione sat up,   
took a deep breath and said in a fierce voice, "Well- I'm crummy at   
taking the minutes anyway!" This didn't exactly comfort her.   
  
Well, at least she could get a head start on all her other   
jobs. Hermione reached inside her bag for her appointment list- and   
realised with a thrill of despair that it wasn't there. I probably left   
it in Florean Fortescue's, she thought hopelessly.   
  
She knew it would be useless to go back and look for it. They   
had probably thrown it away.   
  
When WAS she supposed to start those errands? Would it matter   
if she started them early? How many were there? What sort?   
  
Hermione had a LOT of re-organising to do...   



	3. Chapter Three: An Invitation

  
  
Hermione got home at eleven that night. She fed Crookshanks, had   
dinner, changed into her nightdress and looked unenthusiastically   
at the forms she had to write out. There had to be twelve copies,   
all in her best writing.   
  
She took them into her room to write. She didn't trust herself to be   
working at the table in the kitchen in case she fell asleep. Hermione   
lay on her front on the rag rug beside her bed, in front of the heater.   
More than anything she would have loved to just crawl into bed and   
sleep. Crookshanks came along and glad for a distraction, she spent at   
least ten minutes scratching him behind the ears and telling him how   
fantastic he was.   
  
Hermione Granger, you're really just a big teenager, she thought,   
watching Crookshanks jump up onto the quilt.   
  
It was a bit spooky in the dark apartment, practically silent except   
for the humming heater. She'd turned off all the lights, so weird   
shadows reberverated off the walls and into the forboding hallway.   
  
The quill scratched up and down the parchement, copying the form out   
over and over. Hermione was sort of scared. She heard a door slam out   
in the street and very faint heavy metal music coming from the floor   
below. Hermione faintly recalled those awful ghost stories that her   
cousins always told her at family reunions when she was little. In   
particular the one about the girl home alone who was chopped up by   
the Mad Axe-Man of London.   
  
She was just thinking that all she would need would be a pschopathic   
murderer knocking at the door to make the mood complete when the   
doorbell rang.   
  
Hermione almost screamed. Oh, pull yourself together, it's probably   
just the landlord here for a gripe about your late rent, she thought.   
  
She grabbed her wand, muttered "Lumos.", (with the intention that she   
would put it out and hide it up her sleeve if it WAS the landlord),   
tiptoed to the door and opened it a fraction.   
  
"Oh, Ron, really!" she reprimanded, opening the door all the way and   
standing with her hands on her hips. "You gave me such a fright. Have   
you any idea how late it is?"   
  
Ron was standing there looking sheepish. "Er... hey, Hermione. I-   
you... wait a second, what are you doing up this late?" He frowned.   
  
"Working," said Hermione shortly.   
  
"Oh," replied Ron. "Well, anyway, you left this in Florean Fortescue's."   
He held out a sheaf of parchement. It was her appointment list.   
"I would have gone after you, but it says on here that you were in a   
meeting."   
  
Hermione took it. She wanted to throttle herself and thank Ron, both   
sounded extremely appealing. She muttered, "Thanks, Ron. Want to come   
in?"   
  
"Can't, thanks, Mum doesn't even know I'm out this late. If she goes   
upstairs and finds my bed empty she'll make me de-knome the garden   
every day 'til I retire from work."   
  
"Your mum still punishes you? How..."   
  
"How what?" said Ron defensively.   
  
"Nothing." said Hermione quickly.   
  
Ron gave her a warning look and then said briskly, "Well, besides, I   
wanted to ask you something."   
  
"I'm listening."   
  
"Well, the guys at work managed to get Cannons tickets for this Sunday."  
  
"That's nice. They're you favourite team, aren't they?"   
  
"Yeah. This guy- don't like him much really- he's paying and   
everything, but there's one catch."   
  
"What's that?"   
  
"We all have to bring girls." Ron was rocking back and forth on   
his feet, speaking offhandedly- but Hermione noticed that the   
tips of his ears had gone red.   
  
"Ah," she said. "Is that so?"   
  
"Yeah. Well, girlfriends, actually, but I don't have one and I was   
wondering..."   
  
"Yes?"   
  
"Want to come?"   
  
"I'll see if I can get off work. I think I'll be able to wangle  
it, I've been turning up early and leaving late every day since I   
started at the Ministry. Mmm, I think I'll be able to. Where d'you   
want to meet?"   
  
"A little before eight, at the Chudley pitch. You all right with that?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
They just stood there for a second. Hermione said, "I'll send an owl   
confirming, right?"   
  
"Okay. Thanks, Hermione." Ron gave a small wave and Disapparated.   
  
Hermione didn't know why, really, but she was determined to get off   
work early so that she could go to the game with Ron. She'd stand up   
to Percy. She would! 


	4. Chapter Four: Standing Up To Percy

Hermione walked back and forth in front of Percy's office, rehearsing what she was going to say. Mr Weasley, I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave work three hours early on Sunday because I'm going to a Quidditch match with your brother, posing as his girlfriend as he doesn't have one, she thought.   
  
That sounded so STUPID.   
  
All right, she pondered, here's an idea. I shall simply tell him that I have a personal engagement. I won't mention Ron, or Quidditch, or... or...   
  
She couldn't elaborate on that plan any more, but it seemed an airtight one. Hermione took a very deep breath and knocked on the door. "Come in," Percy called.   
  
"Um- Mr Weasley?" she called, looking into the room. He was looking over some contracts on his desk. "Er... maybe this is a bad time, but I have a favour to ask of you, as you're my superior and everything." She secretly congratulated herself on not accidentally calling him Percy.   
  
"Ask away," he said, still examining the contracts.   
  
"I'm going to have to leave work early on Sunday because of a personal engagement."   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Sorry?"   
  
Percy finally looked up at her. "You're going to have to give a valid reason for leaving early, Hermione."   
  
Great, she thought, now the third degree will begin. "I'm going to a Quidditch match," she told him. She waited for the blow to fall.   
  
"Who's playing?" he asked with interest. Hermione stared at him.   
  
"The Chudley Cannons... sir."   
  
"That's a coincidence." He blinked, furrowing his brow in thought.   
  
"What is?" she asked innocently, although she thought she knew.   
  
"Ron and some of his friends from work are going to that game. Maybe you'll see him there," he enlightened her (or so he thought).   
  
"Oh! Maybe I w- hang on. Does this mean I can go?" she asked disbelievingly.   
  
Percy looked as though he had only just realised what he'd said. "I think it does." Hermione could have sworn he had smiled. A bit, anyway. He then seemed to truly realise what he'd said and told her sharply, "But be here early the next day, Hermione."   
  
"Yes, sir." Hope he's not at the Burrow tomorrow, thought Hermione as she walked out. He might see me with Ro- hang on. Why am I embarrassed about being seen with Ron? I was seen with Ron almost every day since I was eleven and the second I turn nineteen, I'm embarrassed about being seen with him? Weird.   
  
Hermione was almost back in her office when an older official asked her to feed the office owls. "Yes, miss." she said, barely thinking about it as she went briskly to the Owlery with a bag of Owl Treats.   
  
The Owl Treats pinged loudly on the bottom of the feed trays as she spooned them out. Oh, stop thinking about Ron, she thought. Think about... how WEIRD Percy acted just now.   
  
Can't keep your mind off those Weasley men, can you? Hermione thought ruefully. But it was really funny. For a brief minute, Percy had seemed like the Weasley who she had been able to discuss careers and classes with. Not 'my superior', but just 'Ron's older brother'. He had been like a teenager again, a stuffy, pompous and rather indignant teenager, but one that she could relate to, for some reason. Maybe because he was smart and got teased for it too.   
  
At least the real Percy had come back when she had needed him. 


End file.
